“You brought me the Rotviel Diary,” said the Chief Archivist.

“Yes,” I said. Unsure of where she was going with this.

“So presumably you’ve read it. At least part of it. Probably in Rotviel, where you found it.”

“Yes. I read some of it as soon as we found it. I was hoping I’d find out where everyone had… gone,” I said. I remembered Rotviel. Eerie and empty and confusing.

“And did you learn that from the diary?”

“No. But I did get an idea of why they might have decided to leave. At least I think I did. I have that impression.”

“Lets try a different question,” she said. “What did you find in the kitchen area of the farmhouses in Rotveil?”

I thought back, trying to visualise the kitchen of the first farmstead. It was much harder than I expected it to be. I took a step back through the memory. I tried to find the memory of seeing the sign for Rotviel. Then following the already slightly overgrown path. Then to the feeling of dread I’d had when we first realised that there was no-one around. Then I tried to picture the inside of the first farmstead. And there it was. The recipe.

“They were making fever tea. Because the children all had fevers,” I said.

“Not just fevers,” said Ms Robinsdottir. “The Fever. The one we fear. The one that we can’t treat. The one that most of us barely remember exists between outbreaks.”

“At the meeting in Uln,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Someone said that the virus could erase itself from the mind.”

“This is our operating theory,” said Ms Robinsdottir.

“Who’s this ‘our’? You and who else?” I said.

“Everyone who can remember it, really. We’re not an organisation. This is not some grand conspiracy. We stay in touch with each other, we share our research, we try to help when there are outbreaks. A lot of us are Elves and Half-elves. We live longer so we see more outbreaks. More chances to become so traumatised by it that we could never forget it. A lot of us are Witches. They tend to take things that they can’t treat personally, particularly when those things hurt children. There are a lot of other healers. A few political types and administrators and, of course, some of the Fever Touched themselves. The people who survived the worst of the Fever as children. Many of them never want to be reminded of what they went through, some don’t remember it much and have nothing to add, a few choose to help with our investigations.”

“Why doesn’t Jethro remember it then?” I said. “He’s a half-elf. Isn’t he?” Too late I wondered if it was horribly rude or racist to bring up Jethro’s ears.

“Jethro is Elf-kin, not a Half-elf. I’m a Half-elf. I know it’s hard to believe, his ears are taller than mine…”

I interrupted. “It’s not hard to believe. You’ve got the body proportions and the cheekbones and the air of…” I ran out of steam, unable to work out how to say ‘air of haughty intelect’ without insulting her.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“The whole bossy smug elf thing, yes I know,” she said.

“That’s not what I was going to say…”

She interrupted me, “You don’t have to say it. I said it. I’ve worked hard to be a smug, bossy half-elf bitch. I’ve earned this.”

“Well so long as you know yourself,” I said. “Are you saying that Jethro isn’t elf enough to remember the fever?”

“Aren’t you spiky?” said the Archivist. “I understand that these terms are unfamiliar to you. I’m trying to explain them. I’m a Half-elf because my father was an Elf and my mother was Human. I have enough Elf blood that I went through puberty when I was older than Jethro is now and I can expect to live for a couple of centuries. I lived through two outbreaks as a child. I watched two generations of school friends sicken and die. I can’t imagine ever forgetting the Fever.”

“And if you had children would they be Elf-kin then?” I said. I regretted it as soon as I said it because that was absolutely none of my business.

“That’s the Fever talking. It’s trying to distract you. But you have to learn this stuff some time and it may as well be from me. At least I’m not going to take your curiosity personally. If I were to bear the children of a Human sperm donor then my children would most probably be Elf-kin. They would have a slightly delayed puberty, take their first Type and Career skills a bit late, and have access to Elf skills and perks. If I were to bear the children of an Elf or Half-Elf donor then my children would most likely be Half Elves. My descendants can only be Half-Elf or Elf-kin, or if they were to exclusively breed with Humans they could eventually be considered humans.”

“Wow, the stain of humanity just does not wear off,” I said. Then I realised how that might sound, given how I now looked. “I speak as a former human.”

“I know,” said the Archivist, “I’ve spoken to a lot of Outlanders. You’re all humans. Speaking of which… I’ve been meaning to ask… If you don’t mind a personal question?”

“After what I just asked you? Go right ahead,” I said.

“Are you a Hyena-Kin?”

“Yes.”

“And you chose Hyena?”

“Yes.”

“Are you specifically a spotted Hyena?”

“Yes.”

“And do you…?” And she choked. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Right now I have no plans to get pregnant and that is all I’ll say about… below belt matters.”

She stared at me for a moment, as if calculating something, then, “I’m going to sort out some fresh tea. I’ll bring Jethro back, if I may,” she said

#

The tea was actual tea. Specifically black tea, brewed in a bone china teapot, drunk out of a porcelain tea-cup. I don’t even like tea much but I found myself appreciating something familiar, here in the heart of somewhere so very strange.

“I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that I have secured accommodation for you both,” said Ms Robinsdottir. “There is a small apartment set aside for newly arrived Outlanders. You’re both welcome to stay there for a few days, just until you find a place of your own, or decide to leave the city.”

“That’s very generous of you,” said Jethro, “Are you sure it’s alright for me to stay there too?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Petra is not the first Outlander to arrive here with an Arkadian escort. Now there are a few people around the city who need copies of the diary you delivered. I’m having copies made and, if you’re willing, perhaps you two could deliver some of them? It will help you to get to know the city and to meet some important people. It should only take a couple of days.”

“That seems like a very reasonable way to repay the favour of accommodating us,” said Jethro.

“Sounds good to me too,” I said.

“And perhaps tomorrow we can have tea again,” said the Chief Archivist.